


A yurt and a side-eye

by Fatale (femme)



Series: This complicated thing we have [4]
Category: White Collar
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 02:29:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femme/pseuds/Fatale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can feel Peter’s eyes raking over him, looking for some kind of clue, a tell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A yurt and a side-eye

 

A yurt and a side-eye  
Peter/Neal  
PG  
WC: 400  
A/N: Number whatever in a [series of ridiculous fluff ficlets](http://fatale.livejournal.com/tag/this%20complicated%20thing%20we%20have). You don't have to read one to understand the other.

FYI - in case it isn't obvious by the sheer number of posts I've been making, I'm sick, stuck at home and bored. Leave me prompts and I will work them in.

 

 

 

“Peter,” Neal says, “of course you like bears.” He lets his voice take on a knowing lilt, a suggestive tone.

“Can you _not_ make inappropriate sexual remarks around children?”

“Say that louder, will you? Two men at the zoo in the middle of the day aren’t attracting enough attention already,” Neal says.

“You’re the one saying things about bears, and making, you know, _entendres_.”

“I just asked you what your favorite animal was,” Neal says breezily.

“What’s your favorite animal?”

Neal briefly toys with lying, saying something expected like a tiger or elephant, but decides to go with the truth. He doesn’t see how it can hurt him. “Chinese Red Panda.”

“That’s--that’s strangely specific of you,” Peter says, turning to him with narrowed eyes.

He can feel Peter’s eyes raking over him, looking for some kind of clue, a tell. Neal carefully stays still. Peter always wants to know why, why, why. But sometimes Neal doesn’t have a why, sometimes he just has a _because_.

“I saw one once, and I liked it.”

“Was that the time you kind of fell off the grid for a few months? Couldn’t get a handle on where the hell you’d gone.”

“Probably the time I was living in a yurt,” Neal says agreeably.

“ _God_ ,” Peter says, “please do tell.”

Neal shrugs. “Nothing to tell. A yurt is a yurt, isn’t it?”

Actually, it was a terrible time. He’d made too many high-profile thefts, Peter was only a half-step behind him, hot on his trail and he was heartsick and lonely and missed Kate so badly his bones hurt with it. He’d laid on the thatched floor, watched his fists clench and unclench and tried to will himself to get up, keep moving.

Neal isn’t ready to tell Peter about that. Someday, maybe soon. But not today.

Peter shakes his head disbelievingly. “Why do all my conversations with you feel like getting a concussion?”

“It’s a gift,” Neal says and tilts his head back, eyes narrowed against the sunlight. “Oh hey, Peter, did I ever tell you about the time I was a naked singing waiter?”

A group of passing children giggles. A teenaged girl snaps a picture of Neal with her cellphone. Peter looks like he might actually _die of humiliation_.

“Hope you enjoyed the zoo, Neal, because we can never come here again.” Peter pauses, then says grudgingly, “Tell me about being a naked singing waiter. In detail.”

 

The end.


End file.
